Please give me the support of you vote.

*

A woman who opposes having anal sex, has a secret, anal sex agenda

Other than in the realm of comedy, comedians, and comediennes, anal sex ain't no joke. To many, anal penetration is as series as vagina penetration. A serious matter, one that takes a lot of self-reflection prior anticipation for the woman to properly clean and douch herself, anal sex is just as wantonly desired as is vaginal intercourse. The perfect, foolproof, birth control method, anal sex is not only for heterosexual men and women but also for gay and lesbian couples too. Yet, before getting down to the serious business of ass play, we explore the lighter and less sophisticated side of anal sex.

"Are you ready? Shall we begin?"

* * * * *

"Knock, knock," said Olivia smiling at her husband, John, no doubt with the anticipation of what she was going to say to him next.

In the way she always looked when about to tell her husband a joke, she looked excited. Not getting her humor, never getting her humor, in the way he felt as old as he looked, she looked so young, especially when she was happy, laughing, and smiling. Yet, bored to tears by her seemingly endless supply of jokes, he looked at her over his reading glasses, sighed loudly, and rolled his eyes. Looking at her as if she was a painting or a priceless work of art that he admired from afar, she was so beautiful. If it wasn't for her beauty, he would have kicked her to the curb for a dog, a Labrador Retriever, a Poodle, or a Cocker Spaniel. Alas, in the way she was so against giving him anal sex, the one thing that he so wanted, to him, she was so sexually unattainable.

Now after all of these years, he finally knew the sad truth about a May and December romance. This is why he never should have married a much younger woman. Not even able to maintain an intelligent conversation, they had nothing in common. Had he married someone more his age, she'd be serving him tea before returning to reading her book to leave him to his thoughts in peace.

"No Olivia. Please. If you don't mind, no more knock, knock jokes," he said. "I've had quiet enough of knock, knock, who's there?" He looked at her with obvious exasperation while putting up his hand as if he was stopping someone from talking in his class. "I'm tired of your nonsensical knock, knock jokes."

Still smiling and not terribly crushed by his rejection, she had grown accustomed to his difficult nature and moodiness. Allowing his impatient attitude to roll off of her back and taking his verbal abuse in stride, she looked at him while he returned to doing his crossword puzzle in ink. Cajoling him, she nudged his foot with her foot.

"C'mon John, I need to try out my new material on you for the comedy club," she said leaning forward to pat his knee with encouragement.

When she leaned forward like that, in the way she always did when in his class 15, long, sexually frustrating years ago, she gave him the perfect down blouse view of the tops of her abundant breasts. As if he was a horny teenager, he stared at her long line of cleavage in the way he always stared at her ass crack whenever she bent forward enough to flash him her thong. With her reminding him of a character in a period novel, a privileged woman of distinction back in the 17th century, she was wearing her sexy low cut bra, the one where her boobs nearly spilled out of them.

Odd that she was giving him encouragement to listen to her joke when he should have been the one encouraging to share her joke with him. Instead of listening to his wife, he reached out his hand to take her hands in his while looking in her eyes with utter frustration and bored annoyance. In the way he had once already done, looking as if he was about to propose again, he didn't propose. Instead of being lovingly kind to her, he was mean to her. Instead of talking to her as if she was his equal, he talked down to her as if she was just another one of his immature students.

"Listen to me, Olivia. You must stop this foolishness. Please stop with you trying to be a comedienne," he said with a sad face as if he was giving her his condolences at the funeral of her close relative or family friend. "None of your jokes are funny. You suck at telling jokes. Really, you do. All of your jokes are terrible," he said. "It's painful for me to hear you destroy the English language by telling me another nonsensical joke."

He looked at her while wondering if he was getting through to her.

"Terrible? My jokes are all terrible?" She looked at him as if he had stabbed her in the heart. "Seriously? Do you really mean that?" She remained silent while staring at him. "How could you say that to me, John? You know how much I want to make it as a comedienne."

She looked at him as if she was about to cry. Instead of just listening to her tell him a joke, how could he do that to her? How could he treat her in such a disrespectful way?

"Don't worry about the money you think you'd earn telling jokes," he said snidely. "Between the royalties from my books, my paid lectures, my movie consulting fees, and my full professorship at the university, you don't need to work. I earn more than enough money to support the both of us," he said finally giving her a look of encouragement when telling her to do something else other than telling jokes. "Why not just read a book, paint a picture, or knit something instead of telling jokes? Do the crossword puzzles," he said holding up his nearly completed crossword puzzle. "Find a hobby."

As if seeing him for the first time, she looked at him as if he was the mean bastard that he is. The mad professor, he was always angry and never happy. What attracted her to him before, when not directed at her, was his lack of patience and tolerance to all things and to all students. Only with him worsening with age, now that his verbal abuse was directed at her, he confounded her. He angered. He frustrated her sexually and otherwise.

"All of my jokes are not funny? How can you say that to me? How can you hurt my feelings like that?"

Instead of looking as if she was about to cry, with her face beat red, she looked as she was about to hit him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Better that I be the one to tell you that you're not as funny as you think you are to spare you the embarrassment of going on stage."

She pulled her hands away from him to put her hands on her knees. Sitting bolt upright, she sat as if she was sitting on a toilet and was constipated.

"Many of my jokes are very funny. I'm not about to be your kept, little woman, painting, knitting, reading, and doing the crossword puzzle," she said pointing her finger of womanhood freedom at him. "This is the 21st century and not the 1890's. As a capable and college educated woman, a human being just like you, I want to make my own way," she said. "You don't get my jokes because you don't have a sense of humor. You're just jealous because you can't tell a joke to save your life."

With him sitting there so smugly smart, so arrogant, so full of himself, and with him having distain for everyone, including her, his own wife, he was a miserable man. A lonely man, he didn't have any friends. He had lots of acquaintances until he lashed out his superiority on them. Only, he didn't see himself that way, a miserable, lonely, angry man. He saw himself more of a refined gentleman, a man of class and distinction in the way that Richard Burton and/or Peter O'Toole were when they weren't drinking and drunk.

Alas, perhaps he'd be happier if he was sexually satisfied. Perhaps he'd be happier if his wife would agree to have anal sex with him instead of just telling him anal sex jokes. With him always completing his crossword puzzles in ink, wordplay, serious thinking, and solutions to problems that confounded others were all the things that he professed as important to his scholarly domain.

With her simplistic domain always telling him her not so funny jokes, always ready to laugh in the hopes of making others laugh, she was foolishly impetuous and he wasn't. She was as kind and caring and he was insensitive and mean. She had an insatiable appetite for life and he, wanting to be left alone with his reading and crossword puzzles, was seemingly done with people and with living. With her not giving him anal sex, seemingly, if judging him by the way he treated her, he was done with her too.

"How long have I known you, Olivia?"

"Knock, knock," he remembered were the first words out of her mouth when they first met.

At the time, thinking that she was adorably cute, a sweet pixie of a young woman and a dark haired, Katie Couric look-a-like, but for her big boobs and shapely ass, he didn't even remember the joke. He more remembered how amazing her perfect ass looked in her skintight jeans when she turned to take her seat in his class. Forsaking her skintight jeans for short skirts, sadly, that was the last time she rewarded him a view of the shapely outline of her perfect ass. Just as he didn't laugh at her jokes then, he wasn't laughing at her jokes now. Having heard them all before or facsimiles of old jokes retold with new characters, he wasn't even moved to laugh at her never mind to laugh with her.

Only, she was so very beautiful and he could tell right away that she had a schoolgirl crush on him. Unaccustomed to any woman having a crush on him, he was more than flattered. He was moved to act upon his sexual impulses. He couldn't wait to kiss her while feeling her big breasts through her tight, low cut sweaters. He couldn't wait to slide his hand down behind her to feel and squeeze her incredible ass through her painted on jeans. He couldn't wait to remove her jeans before removing her panties with his teeth. He couldn't wait to bend her over his desk and plunge his stiff cock in her sweet ass. He couldn't wait to get her in bed and take her anally again and again.

"Fifteen years John," she said. "We met fifteen years ago in English Lit class."

He couldn't believe he's known this woman for fifteen years and not once has she agreed to submit herself to giving him anal sex. He couldn't believe he's known this woman for fifteen years and throughout all of these years, she continues making a fool of herself by trying to be a comedienne. If nothing else, she's determined. If nothing else, she's not a quitter. If nothing else, she's so frigging immaturely annoying by boring him to death with her stupid jokes.

Envious of her devotion, she doesn't give up on her dream in the way he's already given up on himself in being nothing more than a college professor. When he wanted to be head of the English department and eventually become the Dean of the school, he saw his dreams dashed when he realized finally it wasn't so much what he knew but who he knew. As a man who kept to himself and as a man who lacked the social skills to be in such a political position, he was much better sitting behind his desk than being in a position of leadership.

Perhaps if he wasn't so serious, he'd be more approachable. Perhaps if he smiled instead of frowned, he'd be more likeable. Perhaps if he laughed at himself in the way so many of his students laughed at him behind his back, he'd be more beloved. Perhaps if he told a joke to the Dean or to his class, he'd be invited to one of their private parties and/or be accepted as one of them.

Only, paying honor to the classics and to the authors who wrote the words he so cherished, there was nothing funny about 20th century, English Literature. Not to be taken lightly with the disrespectful jocularity that his wife approaches a knock, knock joke, interpreting the words of Nobel Prize winners was not only scholarly business but also serious business. More than a mere English Literature professor, he was his students' guide, their mentor, and perhaps their first contact to the classics.

Nonetheless his scholarly education and his lofty intentions to motivate his students, he always struggled to find the exact word, the fitting phrase, the desire description, and/or the imagined imagery to inspire his students to embrace American literature in the way he has for more than forty years. He was determined to make his students not only see what he sees but also to realize what the authors were thinking at the time to have written what they wrote. He needed his students to understand why these literary works have stood the test of the tumultuous and turbulent times without their inherent messages being dated and meaningless.

"How long have we been married?"

Totally opposites with him being a serious and preoccupied college professor and her telling him stupid jokes that weren't funny, obviously, they were on the opposite ends of the intellectual spectrum. They were opposites sexually too. With him always wanting to try anal sex and with her not even considering the thought of him sticking his cock in her ass, they were at an impasse without room for negotiation. Then, adding insult to his injured pride, as if to rub anal sex in his face, her favorite type of joke, for some strange reason, she enjoyed telling anal sex jokes more than any other type of idiotic anecdote. How could she tell an anal sex joke when she's never had anal sex was beyond his comprehension?

"You don't know how long we've been married?" She made a bitter face in the way he always made a disapproving face at his students and now at her.

Of course he knew how long they were married. Seemingly over her head and beyond her limited scope of understanding, he showed her his impatience with asking her a rhetorical question.

"Of course I know how long we've been married. I'm just asking you a rhetorical question to make a point," he said with attitude. "Just answer the question, if you will please," he said as if he was still her teacher and she was still his student.

"Twelve, wonderful years," she said with a loving smile.

In the way she always smiled at him and in the way she was always so kind to him, he sometimes felt that her smile was insincere and a knife that she turned in his stomach to make him feel guilty for being so mean to her. Twelve years. He's been married to her for twelve years. It didn't seem that long to him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that they were married eight or nine years, at the most. Yet with her confounding him and exasperating him, with her stubbornness, and her resistance in quitting and giving up her dream of becoming a comedienne, and with her not agreeing to try anal sex, sometimes he felt as if they had been married 30 years.

"How long have you been trying to make it as a comedienne?"

As if she was a clown or a horse counting with its hoof, trying to be funny and make him laugh, she counted on all ten fingers before removing her shoes and counting on her toes too while giggling. When she removed her shoes and spread and lifted her legs to count on her toes, whether accidentally or deliberately, she flashed him her panties. Still mesmerized by the mere sight of her panties, even though he's seen her in her panties a thousand times, never tiring of seeing her panties, he loved her bikini panties.

He loved how her bikini panties perfectly fit over her beautiful tush. Too good for him, she was such a fun loving woman. Perhaps he'd be better suited being married to a stiffly stern librarian in the way of Miss Hathaway, Mr. Drysdale's executive assistant, on the Beverly Hillbillies. He surely didn't deserve being married to funny, fun loving, and easy going Olivia.

"Twenty years," she said laughing.

He put his crossword puzzle down and looked at her over the tops of his reading glasses whenever she said something stupid, foolish, or unbelievable.

"Twenty years? You've been telling jokes with the hopes of being a comedienne for twenty years?"

"Yes," she said with pride.

"Tell me this then and be honest," he said pausing to stare in her eyes as if willing her to give up her dream. "Have you ever heard me laugh at one of your inane jokes?"

Before removing his focus from her to return his attention to his crossword puzzle, he looked at her with disapproval and disappointment in the way a father would look at his disobedient daughter. Only, with her his child of a bride, they never had children. It was apparent to him now that there was a gap in their commonalities that their twenty-year age difference could never bridge.

She was his student when they first met and he was her college professor. In many ways he was still her teacher but, in the way she no longer listened to him when hanging off of his every word as she did before, it was obvious to him that she was no longer his student. With her unwilling to try anal sex, there was nothing more to teach her that she willingly wanted to learn. Just as his existence was more geared to the finer things in life, obviously her life was stuck in her frustrated inability to make people laugh.

"No, I've never heard you laugh at any of my jokes but you're a tough nut to crack. I figure that if I can make you laugh, I can make anyone laugh," she said looking at him with renewed inspiration while smiling at him before giggling again. "Knock, knock," she said with a giggle.

He dropped his head to reveal his frustration and drooped his shoulders to exhale his boredom.

"No Olivia. No more knock, knock jokes," he said looking up at her over his glasses.

With her knees parted enough to still flash him a triangular peek at her panties, he thought of all the times she deliberately flashed him her panties while sitting directly in front of him in the front row of his class. Difficult for him to concentrate on his lecture, one day, she sat in front of him without shame, without embarrassment, without modesty, without decency and morality, and without wearing her panties. Having to lecture his class from his chair, he had to remain seated not to show his obvious erection. It took all the self-control he possessed not to stare between her opened legs.

Nothing new, with the secret sexual lust he had for her, he always had a boner when she was in his class. He had to look to the other side of the room not to stare at the tops of her shapely thighs and her exposed, trimmed, dark brown pussy. If only she'd bend over in front of him, he'd love to see her naked ass. If only she'd fill his eyes with her naked ass in the way she was filling his line of sight with her naked pussy, he'd be a happy man.

He'd love nothing better than to fall between her knees to finger her pussy while kissing her and feeling her big breasts through her blouse and bra. He wished he could lick her to an orgasm before standing before her for her to suck his cock. Then, when ready to cum, he'd pull her up to him and bend her over to give her anal sex her doggie style. He'd love nothing better than to fuck her in her beautiful, round, firm, shapely ass. He'd love nothing more than to fill her anal cavity with all of him.

That fateful day he asked her to lunch. That fateful day, they had sex in his apartment. That fateful day when he felt her ass, squeezed her ass, and licked her ass, she rebuffed him when he tried to seduce her anally. Too much too soon, he figured she'd have anal sex with him another time but she never did. He figured she'd give her ass to him once they were married but years later, he's still waiting. It's apparent to him now that she'll never willingly submit her ass to him. Only, he's not the type of man to force her. How could he force his wife, the woman he loves, to do something that she willing cannot do?

"I promise you, this one is really funny," she said.

She was always so excited to tell him her joke and he was always so tortured to hear her joke.

"Please, I beg you. No more knock, knock jokes."

A small victory, or so he thought, he reached for his crossword puzzle again to immerse himself in the meaning of words by filling in his little boxes.
"Okay," she said thinking. "A rabbi, a priest, and a nun are in a boat about to have anal sex," she said.

Wanting to scream his insanity, he hid his face in his newspaper.

"God help me," he said gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. "No more rabbis, priest, and nuns. Just as the last one hundred rabbis, priest, and nun jokes weren't funny, I'm sure this rabbi, priest, and nun is not funny either."

Yet, not giving up, staying true to herself and to her calling to be a comedienne, she persevered.

"Okay," she said thinking. "Forget about the rabbi, priest, and nun. Forget I even mentioned a rabbi, a priest, and a nun. Erase a rabbi, a priest, and a nun from your mind. I'll never mention a rabbi, priest, and nun again," she said laughing.

"Good," he said.

"An American Indian, a black man, and a Jewish Princess are in a boat and about to have anal sex," she said with a giggle with what she was about to say next.

He put his newspaper down in his lap to look at his wife.

"I'm begging you Olivia. Please. Stop with the boats. Please stop with the anal sex jokes," he said. "I'm trying to do my crossword puzzle. I can't think with you incessantly telling me jokes that aren't funny. I can't keep a thought in my head without you saying knock, knock, or telling me about a trio of people who just aren't funny."

She looked at him and smiled. In the way he talked to her and sometimes looked at her, if she shot him dead right now, no jury would convict her.

"Okay, no more boats," she said thinking. "I won't tell you a joke with an American Indian, a black man, and a Jewish princesses. I have a better joke than that," she said waiting for him to pick up his newspaper and busy himself in his crossword puzzle again. "A Chinaman, a soldier, and a parochial school teacher are on a plane and about to have mile high anal sex," she said.

He looked at her with impatience. He looked at her with pent up sexual frustration. He looked at her as if he wanted to grab her by her hair, tear off her short skirt and panties, bend her over the couch, and bone her up her ass right there.

"Olivia, please," he said. "No boats, no planes, and no more anal sex jokes. Okay?"

She looked at him and smiled again.

"Okay, gotcha," she said pausing to think before speaking again. "A republican and a democratic senator are in the backseat of a car, a Cadillac, a black, shiny, Cadillac limousine and about to have anal sex with a sexy page," she said laughing at her own joke. "Political jokes are always funny."

He looked at her with anger. He looked at her as if he was a horny pirate away at sea too look when looking at a wench showing too much cleavage.

"Olivia! What must I do to make you stop telling these terrible, anal sex jokes? Please, I beg you. No boats, no planes, and no automobiles. No rabbis, priests, nuns, American Indians, black men, Jewish princesses, Chinamen, soldiers, parochial school teachers, republicans, democrats, and/or sexy pages. And above all, no anal sex jokes. Okay?"

Yet, once again, she looked at him and smiled before giggling, no doubt, with what she was thinking.

"Okay, no more jokes except for this one," she said thinking. "A sailor, a Marine, and a waitress are in a restaurant walking to their table when the sailor bends the waitress over the table, lifts up her short skirt, and pulls down her panties. Then, the Marine—"

He crumpled his newspaper and tossed it on the coffee table.

"Fuck! For the love of God, Olivia, no more jokes especially anal sex jokes," he said. "I can't take it anymore, especially with you refusing to give me anal sex. You're torturing me with these anal sex jokes."

Then, as if she had an epiphany, a moment of eureka, she beamed him a smile.

"Okay, I have something that's really funny," she said giving him a snide look. "Instead of telling you a joke about someone else having anal sex, what if I told you a joke about us having anal sex?"

He looked at her as if she had just kicked him in the testicles.

"Being that we don't have anal sex and have never had anal sex even though I'd love to sexually experience you anally, that is the joke. The joke is on me," he said with sadness. "The joke is that I will never, ever, have anal sex with you even though I want that more than anything."

He looked at her as if she had just lost her mind or was trying to make him lose his mind.

"Oh, c'mon, lighten up John. Don't be such a stick in the mud. It's just a joke," she said.

The very nerve of her to want to tell him a joke about them having anal sex, he looked at her with unmitigated, sexual frustration.

"Anal sex? Are you kidding me? You want to tell me a joke about us having anal sex. The joke is that we don't have anal sex even though I want nothing more than to have anal sex with you. Indeed, if there is a joke in all of this, the anal sex joke is on me," he said throwing his hands in the air.

He looked at her as if he wanted to strip her naked and sodomize her.

"Lighten up John. It's just sex," she said. "Get a grip."

He wanted to say for her to lighten up but he didn't. He wanted to say while fucking her in her ass that it's just anal sex but he didn't say that either. He imagined her not only enjoying anal sex but also wanting to have anal sex again and again. Maybe she's not into having anal sex with him. Maybe she'd be more willing to having anal sex if she was having anal sex with someone else, someone her own age perhaps. He never thought of that until now. If her having anal sex with someone else was his prelude to having anal sex with her, he'd agree to that. He'd watch her having anal sex with some young man before joining in to bone her up the ass.

"Tell me, what can you possibly know about anal sex to tell me in joke form that will make me laugh? You never had anal sex?" He pointed a finger of accusation at her as if she was on trial.

She shrugged her indifference.

"I don't have to be dead to tell you a joke about a ghost," she said shrugging her indifference.

He put his hand to his forehead.

"How can you possibly tell a joke about anal sex when you know nothing about the beautiful sexual pleasure of anal sex?"

He waved a disgusted hand at disinterest at her.

"Just because I haven't had anal sex doesn't mean that I can't joke about it," she said.

He looked at her with a mixture of anger, bitterness, and sexual frustration.

"Every time I try to have anal sex with you, you regale me with your non-stop, bathroom humor. Whenever I take more of an interest in your ass than with the rest of your beautiful body, you make a shitty remark and/or a crappy joke before pulling your nightgown down and rolling your ass away from me," he said with some repressed anger. They sat in silence before he spoke again. "I'll make a deal with you."

Her eyes lit up. She was always so easy. She was always so agreeable. The only time she wasn't cooperative was over him wanting to have anal sex with her.

"A deal? I like deals. What kind of a deal?"

Always so serious in his demeanor, looking at her with a devilish grin, he looked at her as if he was giving her a pop quiz.

"When you have anal sex with me is when you can tell me an anal sex joke," he said.

She made a face as if she had eaten something that didn't agree with her. She made a face as if she had gas and wanted to fart.

"That will never happen," she said under her breath while waving a hand of disinterest at him.

She looked at him with frustration in the way that he always looked at her with disappointment.

"You telling me an anal sex joke that will make me laugh will never happen either," he said in sad repartee.

Showing her disinterest with the topic of conversation, she shrugged and shook her head. Nonetheless, she persevered in her wanting to tell him an anal sex joke.

"Anal sex jokes are my best material. My audience loves my anal sex jokes," she said nodding her head up and down as if she needed that extra bit of head motion to convince him that she knew how to tell a good anal sex joke.

He looked at her in frustration, sexual and otherwise.

"After you refuse to have anal sex with me, don't you dare tell me another anal sex joke," he said pointing a finger of accusation at her again. "In the fifteen years, I've known you, we've never had anal sex. In the twelve years we've been married, never once have you relented in giving me what I want, anal sex," he said pounding his fisted hand in the air

She looked at him and smiled.

"Okay. This will cheer you up and get you out of your funky mood," she said thinking and pausing a long time before speaking again. "Two assholes walk in a bar—"

He tossed his glasses on the coffee table and pulled at his hair.

"Enough! I can't take this anymore," he said.

As if whatever he said to her about her stopping with the jokes didn't register, as if she was purposely trying to annoy him, she looked at him and smiled.

"Then, if you don't like my jokes, you tell me a joke," she said.

As if he had a moment of enlightenment, an epiphany and a moment of eureka, as if he was suddenly inspired to share his joke with her, he bit at her offer to tell her a joke.

"A joke? Seriously? You want me to tell you a joke? Is that it?"

Now he looked at her and smiled.

"Yes," she said folding her arms across her breasts. "Make me laugh," she said. "Go ahead. I dare you to make me laugh. I double dare you to make me laugh."

An expression he wasn't accustomed to showing on his stern face, he looked at her with happiness.

"You really want me to make you laugh?"

She looked at him with resolution.

"Yes," she said.

She beamed him a self-satisfied smile in the way he always gave her a superior look.

"You dare me to make you laugh," he said.

She smacked her lips again and again with a clucking sound as if imitating a chicken clucking.

"I do. I double dare you to make me laugh," she said. "Chicken," she said flapping her bent arms as if they were chicken wings. "Go ahead. I'm waiting for you to make me laugh."

She folded her arms across her breast again while obviously waiting for him to make her laugh.

"You double dare me to make you laugh?"

This time, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Consider yourself double dared grumpy grandpa," she said.

Only, instead of telling her a joke, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and stood while walking towards the kitchen.

"Just give me a minute please. I need to make a phone call," he said holding up a finger as if he was in class and needed to take a call.

Excited before, with him leaving the room and abandoning her to call someone else, she acted rejected now.

"Okay," she said with a shrug while watching him disappear in the kitchen. "Are you calling someone to give you a joke to tell me," she said with a laugh.

John ignored her to talk on his cell phone.

"Hello? Hi. It's John. About that thing we discussed at the club the other night. Yeah. Let's do it. I want to go through with it. Okay? An hour? Really? Everyone? Okay. Great. Oh," he said whispering. "Yes, of course. Don't worry about the money. I'm fine with the money. Money is no problem. Whatever it cost is well worth it to me. How long? Being this is her first time and with that many people, I'd say four hours. Yeah, give me your best four hour rate. Oh, and tell the four women to bring their strap-on dildos. I'll see you in an hour," he said in a whisper before hanging up the phone.

He returned to the living room and sat in his chair. He looked at her and smiled at her in the way she always smiled at him.

"Who was that on the phone?"

He smiled at her again, this time with smugness.

"Just something I had to put in motion. You'll see in an hour," he said looking at his watch as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

When an hour had passed, there was a knock at the door.

"Knock, knock," he said standing and turning to her while laughing before walking to the door.

As if she didn't already know, she looked at him and smiled before innocently responding to his knock, knock with a sexually excited laugh.

"Who's there?" She said looking at him with feigned trepidation that hid her eager, sexual anticipation.

John opened his front door and there on his doorstep was a gathering of people from the Improv Strip Club. A rabbi, a priest, and a nun, an American Indian, a black man, and a Jewish princess, a Chinaman, a soldier, and a parochial school teacher, a republican, a democrat, and a sexy page, a sailor, a Marine, and a waitress all walked in his house.

"Hi, pleased to meet you. Hello. Nice outfit. I love your costume. Welcome," he said greeting them. Come in, come in," he said as if he was Bryan Cranston as Walter White from Breaking Bad and inviting drug dealers and murderers from the drug cartel in his house instead of strippers from the strip club.

With the crowd of strippers assembled before her, she looked from them to look at her husband before looking back at them.

"I don't get it," she said acting so innocently coy. She looked from the strippers to look at her husband again. "What is this a joke? Is this your idea of a joke? Is this what you think is funny? What's the joke?"

"You'll see," he said.

"I don't think this is funny at all John," she said winking at the strippers who lined her hall. "If anything I feel as if you're poking fun of me and my jokes by hiring costumed characters that appear in my jokes."

As if he had one some form of personal contest between the two of them, he looked at her victoriously and smiled.

"Yes, this is my joke to you. The joke is on you sweet cheeks," he said.

As if she didn't know what he was up to, a long time coming in her planning, she looked at him with a feigned, confused look on her face.

"It's funny that you've assembled all of the characters in my jokes but I still don't understand," she said. "What, pray tell, are they all doing here?"

He looked at her and returned her smile. As if he was a genie who just emerged from her bottle, he stood there with his hands on his hips.

"Anal sex ain't no joke," he said pointing a finger at her as if he was a lecturer giving a speech behind his podium. "Anal sex ain't no laughing matter," he said raising his voice as if he was a black preacher in a Baptist Church. "I'm sick to death of hearing you tell me a not so funny joke about two assholes walking in a bar," he said looking from her to look at the fifteen costumed standing there in his living room.

"John? I don't like your tone. You're making me nervous. You're making me afraid. I'm going to go to my mother's until you calm yourself," she said standing up to leave.

"Get her. Take her to the bedroom," he said leading the way.

Grabbing her and stripping off her clothes, they carried her into the bedroom naked. Once they deposited her on her bed, they all stripped off their clothes before sexually attacking her. In the way he was a 42-year-old, dirty, old man to be with a 22-year-old, young, somewhat innocent woman, he was now 57-year-old, dirty, old man still in his glory to be with a 37-year-old mature, anal sex virgin of a woman.

Conversely, albeit no doubt sexually feeling much the same as her husband feels being with her, she was a mature woman in her glory to be with 15, hard bodied strippers who were in their twenties. Something she's been waiting a long time to experience, she couldn't wait to be gangbanged anally. Touching her and feeling her where only her husband has touched and felt her in their fifteen years together, instead of screaming rape, seemingly, unbelievably, and shockingly she was enjoying the experience of having gangbang anal sex with ten men and five women.

One by one they all gave her anal sex. Taking turns as if assigned numbers the rabbi positioned himself behind Olivia. Lubricating her anal cavity, he slid his cock deep inside of her ass while the priest positioned himself in front of her for her to suck his cock. With her sucking and the rabbi humping they started their first of five three way swinging sexual encounters. Then, the priest took the rabbi's place while the nun squatted down for Olivia to lick her pussy. Then, it was the American Indian, the black man, and the Jewish princess's turn. When the priest was sexually sated, the nun impaled her strap-on dildo in Olivia's ass.

Now it was the American Indian, the black man, and the Jewish princess' turn for some oral and anal sex fun. When they finished it was the Chinaman, the soldier, and the parochial school teacher's turn. Ready for some oral and anal sex action as soon as the previous three finished, it was the next three's turn. The republican, the democrat, and the sexy page, took their turn with Olivia's willing mouth and shapely ass before the sailor, the Marine, and the waitress took their turns too.

Meanwhile, taking it all in, John sat in his bedroom chair that was perfectly positioned in the corner of the room. From there he watched all the oral and anal sexual action that his wife willingly gave to fifteen strippers while he masturbated himself three times. When the oral and anal gangbang was over and when John was fast asleep in his bed, Olivia went out to the kitchen to call her girlfriend Sheila.

"Sheila, it worked. It finally worked. John gave me what I so wanted, an oral and anal gangbang with 10 male strippers and five female strippers from the Improv Strip Club," she said.

"No way! I can't believe it. You did it. You really did it. You've been planning this for years. I can't believe you got that fuddy-duddy to agree to that. With him thinking it was all his idea, you had group oral and anal sex without your husband even suspecting that was your plan all along. Wow! I'm going to try that with my husband too," said Sheila. "I have to go," she said. "Knock, knock Marty," she said as she hung up the phone.

From that day forward, John was a happy man. With Olivia giving him all of the anal sex he could ever want, so long as he continued hiring a male stripper and/or female stripper or two to sexually pleasure her, she finally had her big break at the comedy club. Anal sex jokes where her bread and butter.

"Knock, knock," she'd said with a gleeful smile.

"Who's there?" Shouted the audience.

"Two assholes walk in a bar..."

THE END

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